An Encounter

His words hit me harder than any shove. For a moment I thought no, I knew he was talking to me. My mind scrambled for a plan. Should I scream, should I stay quiet? My breath snagged, my throat too tight to decide.

I moved backward without meaning to, instinct pulling me away from them, away from their presence.

“Fuck! My heel of all things?” I curse as my heel caught on a coil of rope I'd left carelessly looped. The world leaned, my arms reached for nothing, and I saw the dark water below gaped wide, like a mouth waiting for me.

The boat lurched. My balance betrayed me. Then gravity seized me.

The sea swallowed me whole. Cold punched the air from my chest, shocking every nerve raw. Salt scorched my throat as it rushed in. My clothes grew heavy, dragging me deeper. I kicked wildly, arms thrashing, desperate for the surface. But the rope cinched tight around my ankle, tugging me down.

I clawed at it, fingers shaking, nails scraping uselessly at the knot. Panic clawed at my ribs like an animal with the weight of the water pressed in on every side. I was sinking, fighting, failing, getting pulled into the black as if the sea wanted to keep me forever.

Then I felt a contact a hand around my ankle.

For one searing instant, terror exploded inside me. I twisted hard, kicking, sure it was them, the masked men came to finish me. My lungs tore for air, my body screaming. But instead of tightening, the grip worked quickly, deliberately, fingers tugging at the knot. And then suddenly, I was free.

That same hand gripped firmer around me. The strong arms pulled me upward, cutting through the heavy water with powerful strokes. My chest ached as if it would burst but then - air.

I broke the surface, gasping, dragging in desperate gulps of oxygen. My vision blurred with seawater and panic. I coughed hard, my body trembling from the suffocating darkness I'd just escaped.

And then a voice came.

“Are you okay?” he asked as we were still in the water, floating side by side.

I pushed him away, yanking his hands away from myself. I tried to get my vision cleared but then the water is causing it to hurt me with my mind hallucinating that it's one of those mask guys but his dark blue shirt cuts my eyes.

He shook his head hard, flinging droplets from his hair, and lifted his face towards me.

My breath came in shaky bursts and for a while, neither of us spoke. The night was silent except for the slap of waves against the boat.

Then in quiet, his voice cut through- low and certain.

“Happy birthday, Irene.”

I froze, my lips parting. My head went back to look at him, my heart skipped so violently I thought the sea itself had stolen it.

“What did you just say?” I sneered.

His eyes, dark ever in the moonlight, studied me with a call I didn't understand. “Happy Birthday,” he repeated, after this time, almost like it was a secret meant for me alone.

My throat tightened as his words wrapped around me, heavier than the water ever could. How did he know? Nobody outside my circle of friends knew. Nobody. Yet here he was, saying it like it belonged to him.

But then something struck me harder. A realization hit me like a wave.

“It's you…” My voice trembled half in disbelief, wonder tangled. “You were the one on the bus.”

***

For the first time since pulling me out of the sea, he allowed himself a small smile. The kind that wasn't loud or cocky, but quiet, steady like he'd been waiting for this very moment.

“How did you know my name?” I whispered, my voice sharp with disbelief washing over my face. “Let's say you know my name somehow. You were here and while you were passing, you saw and heard my name while my friends were calling me. Because the boat is close to my birthday party.”

His eyes glared at mine, calm and unreadable, but there was a faint spark in them, something that made my stomach twist. Then he leaned in just slightly, his voice cool and steady. The kind of voice I'd always imagined a guy should have when he wanted to rattle me.

”You should have put ice in your head,” he mumbled.

He kept staring at me as I rubbed my forehead to ease the pain then he asked again. “Are you okay?”

My face twisted with a nervous smile, then quickly clouded with worry. I tried to shake off the tremor in my chest. “Anyway… let's say it was a coincidence, and how did you appear here in a moment? Who are you?”

His lips curved, a grin that sent a flicker of heat through me. “I'm James. The guy you secretly drew on the bus.”

I stiffened, my heart leaping. How could he possibly know that? My fingers twitched at the thought of the sketchbook I’ve been staring at for more than a week now. “I’m serious, who are you?” I snapped, my tone sharper than I meant, edged with panic.

Something cracked in his expression then. The grin faltered, shadows slipping into his eyes.

“Okay…” His voice lowered, softer, carrying a weight I hadn’t expected. “Now you feel uncomfortable because of me.” He glanced away, water dripping steadily from his hair. “I saw you were about to be attacked by those guys in black masks. Then you fell into the water and… I just jumped right after you.”

The words struck me in the chest, pulling me back to the terror of the rope around my ankle, the suffocating darkness, and the hand that had saved me.

He shifted as if to leave, his voice muttering almost to himself. “You can gather your thoughts together. I’ll be going.”

He turned slightly, moving to step away, but my heart lurched violently. No. I couldn’t let him walk away like that. Not after every sleepless night of staring at the sketch and praying I could meet him another day and I won't let the opportunity to become his friend slip.

I couldn't stop blaming myself for my harsh behavior.

“Wait!” My voice cracked in the night air, raw, urgent.

My hand clung to his arm before I even thought about what I was doing. His skin was warm despite the chill, and the moment my fingers closed around him, my chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. If he walked away now, it would be like drowning all over again.

He stilled, his shoulders rigid, as though he was holding himself back.

“I shouldn’t have spoken like that,” I whispered, my throat tightening. The words scraped against me, heavy with regret. My eyes stung, though no tears fell—just the burn of shame. “Alright… you saved my life, thank you very much, really,” I muttered.

“But you too, tell the truth. The person I met a week ago and I met him again on the seabed and after that, you gave me information about my life, do you understand? And you are not a person that I should be afraid of?” My lips trembled, and I hated the way my voice broke on the last word.

He finally turned, his eyes finding mine. The moonlight caught them, deep and unflinching, and in that instant, I felt stripped bare. His expression wasn’t hard, it was something else, something I couldn’t name.

“I was scared,” I admitted finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of what this means… scared of you. But not because I think you’d hurt me.” My breath hitched. “Because you make me feel something I don’t know how to handle.”

He exhaled slowly, the sound like a weight-lifter. His hand rose hesitantly, brushing against my cheek, wiping away a strand of wet hair plastered to my skin. His touch lingered, warm, steady, grounding me even as my feet threatened to give out.

“No… just as you guessed, I was passing by. I saw your name, heard it shouted across the waves. I couldn’t ignore it.” His voice steadied, firm, almost protective. “I saw you in trouble with those evil guys because I’m checking the boat there.”

My gaze lit up, confirming my thoughts about him. The day I bump into him, his dress speaks a lot about him, not the kind of one that needs bragging. And anyone that sees him will know he must have taken the bus for some reason.

“Wow,” I whispered to myself. “And you also have a boat?”

“No, I don't have a boat,” his eyes flickered.” I take care of all the boats here from refining and oiling and that kind of stuff. You know, just helping here and there.”

For a moment, all the air left my body. My brain tried to connect the man in the designer suit, the man on the bus with the one standing before me or must I be mistaken for him